


Bluish

by methequins



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, M/M, Sadstuck, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-17
Updated: 2014-01-17
Packaged: 2018-01-09 02:02:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1140137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/methequins/pseuds/methequins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John had lived in the same small town, a suburb of a suburb of Seattle, the entirety of his young life. Having a serial killer on the loose in the area was the most exciting thing that had happened to that town since the indoor swimming pool had been built. His interests had always somewhat differed from those of his classmates, hence his relative lack of friends – he was obsessed with the paranormal, and remained convinced that ghosts, zombies, vampires, and various other things that went bump in the night existed long after his peers had grown out of such beliefs along with Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy. His refusal to let go of such things was often seen as immature or childish, but he didn’t care or bother to hide it. It was part of who he was, and likely always would be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bluish

**Author's Note:**

> i don't want to tag anything else because spoilersss s s
> 
> i've written a couple other shorter one-shots in this 'verse but this is without a doubt the main story. maybe i'll post the other ones later depending on how well this is received
> 
> a direct quote from my girlfriend re: this fic: "it was fucked up. it fucked me up. this au makes me cry blood" so yeah enjoy

It snowed almost constantly in winter. The flakes clung to John’s hair as he walked home from school, white on black. The sun was already on its way down and his house was dark, his father likely still at work. He was more than used to this world of lonely silence.

 

He cast a glance at the house across the street before going inside. The for sale sign had been changed to sold for a while now, and he’d been eagerly awaiting the new family’s arrival. John was an optimist. He’d been dreaming of a kid his age who liked pranks and ghosts and Nic Cage, maybe with a pretty single mom who was into baking and whatever other weird stuff his dad liked. Someone to make both of them less alone.

 

The thought put a grin on his face and he hurried inside to get out of the cold. “Dad, I’m home!” he called as he shed his outerwear, but he received only the expected silence as an answer. He made his way into the kitchen nonetheless, where he was met with a note in his father’s careful handwriting.

 

SON.

WORKING LATE. DINNER IN FRIDGE. I AM SO PROUD OF YOU.

DAD.

 

He dropped the noted in the trash and settled down at the kitchen table to do his homework.

 

It was dark before he knew it. After finishing his homework he’d heated up his dinner and taken it to his room, where he’d eaten over the keyboard of his computer. He spent almost all the time he wasn’t in school behind that screen. The internet opened an endless world he had no access to otherwise as a thirteen-year-old boy in a quiet suburban town.

 

The sound of a car slowing in front of the house brought John to the window, checking for his dad. But the car wasn’t pulling into his driveway. It wasn’t even a car. It was a pickup truck, the bed stacked with belongings, and it was pulling into the driveway across the street. It was the new neighbors! The realization sent John pressing closer to the window to get a better look. A man got out of the driver’s side. He was younger than John had expected, from afar appearing only in his thirties. His heart fell. There goes the pretty single mom for his dad. And if this guy did have any kids they were likely far younger than him.

 

But he kept watching. The man stretched as if he’d been sitting for a while. He was wearing a baseball cap with scruffy blonde hair poking out underneath. He crossed to the passenger side door and pulled it open, then removed a huge pile of blankets from the seat. It looked like he was talking to someone. John’s heart started beating faster and he pressed his nose against the window, straining to catch a glimpse, when the other passenger climbed out of the truck.

 

He was a boy. A small boy, maybe about John’s age, his skin as pale as the snow covering the ground and hair that nearly matched. Half his face was covered by a pair of oversized aviator sunglasses, even though the street was only lit by the few scattered streetlamps. He didn’t have any kind of a jacket on but he didn’t seem to react to the cold at all.

 

John was instantly fascinated.

 

The man was talking to the boy, who nodded along and yawned. The man ruffled the boy’s hair and handed him the keys. The boy fumbled with the lock to the house but finally the door swung open. He turned back for a moment and, though it was impossible to tell with those sunglasses, John swore the boy looked straight at him.

 

• • • • •

 

John waited for the boy to start at his school, but weeks passed and there was no sign of him. In fact, there was hardly any sign of him at all. John found himself watching the house across the street almost obsessively. The man came ad went frequently, but after the night they moved in, he almost never caught glimpses of the boy. He entertained the idea of just going over there and knocking on the door, but he had no idea what he would even say if he were to do so.

 

Still, he found he couldn’t shake the memory of the pale boy with the big sunglasses. There was something about him, an air about him that made John want to know him. He found himself dreaming up all sorts of theories during school. Maybe he had a rare health condition that kept him from leaving the house. Maybe he was some kind of super genius and went to a fancy private school. Maybe he was a vampire.

 

Whatever it was, John was determined to solve the mystery of his new neighbors.

 

• • • • •

 

“John, would you take out the garbage for me please?”

 

John’s dad was home for a rare evening. John loved his father, sure, but he’d grown used to having the freedom to waste his time away surfing the internet and spying on the neighbors, and being forced into chores was an unwelcome change. After all, he was a teenager now, and a little parental resentment was par of the course.

 

“Sure, dad,” he called back, but the eye rolling couldn’t be helped.

 

It was freezing out, cold enough that John’s breath rose from his mouth in white puffs of condensation. The stars were hidden beneath a thick layer of clouds that would likely bring more snow before morning. John wheeled the garbage can to the curb quickly, wanting nothing more than to get out of the cold. But he paused at the end of the driveway, studying the house across the street. The truck was in the driveway, which meant the man was home, but the windows were dark save for the bluish flicker of a television in one room.

 

“Hey.”

 

John started violently enough that he nearly knocked over the trashcan, but he managed to right it just in time. He turned and nearly started again when he saw who had spoken. It was the boy, pale as a ghost in the night, his expression unreadable behind those sunglasses. His heart was racing and he was completely frozen. The boy looked smaller than John remembered, a few inches less than John, his bare arms bony and twig-like. He seemed so fragile, and yet there was a fierceness to him that raised the hairs on the back of John’s neck.

 

“Why the hell do you watch us all the time?” the boy demanded.

 

“I – I… I just…”

 

“It’s rude to spy on people, you know.” His voice was flat, toneless, and everything about him raised more questions than answers.

 

“I – Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any harm, honest. I was just curious, you know?” John smiled nervously and rubbed the sleeve of his jacket under his nose, which was red and dripping from the cold. “Actually, I was kind of… hoping we could be friends…”

 

“Yeah, well, we can’t.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“I’m not good with people.”

 

“That’s okay! Neither am I! If anything that’s all the more reason for us to be friends, right?”

 

“How do you figure that?”

 

“Well, if we stick together, then it won’t matter if we’re good with other people or not. And besides, we already have that in common, so I’m sure we’ll get along.”

 

“That’s stupid.”

 

The words hit John like a slap in the face and his smile faltered. “Oh.”

 

“I don’t want or need friends. I just want you to leave me and my brother alone.”

 

With that, the boy started back across the street. But John didn’t want him to leave so easily, worried this was his first and last opportunity to talk to the boy.

 

“I’m John,” he called after him.

 

“Dave.” The reply came without so much as a pause or a glance.

 

John watched until Dave disappeared back into the house he’d come from. The first flakes of snow began to fall, clinging to his eyelashes and melting on his cheeks.

 

• • • • •

 

When John went back inside, his dad was smoking a pipe and watching the news. John joined him on the sofa and tucked his knees up to his chest, surrounded by the comfortable fatherly scent of tobacco and aftershave. Much as he tried, he couldn’t stop dwelling on the strange encounter he’d just had.

 

Dave had noticed that John was watching them. John hardly ever saw Dave, and yet somehow he’d noticed anyways. Unless the man – Dave’s brother, John supposed – had told him, but it didn’t really seem that way. Because if that was the case, why had Dave been the one to confront him? And why had he chosen that moment to do so? Dave was hiding something still, John was sure of it.

 

And if Dave was really, truly uninterested, why did he bother to tell John his name? He could have just left without another word – he was already walking away, anyways. But he didn’t. He told John his name. And that had to mean something.

 

“How awful,” John’s dad murmured around his pipe, drawing John from his thoughts. He changed his focus to the television, which was showing a bunch of cops and reporters swarming around a crime scene in the woods.

 

“This is the second murder of this variety in the past month. Police believe they are somehow connected,” the reporter was saying.

 

“What happened?” John asked.

 

His dad’s frown was grim. “They’ve been discovering bodies in the woods. Murders. The victims were both strung from the trees, all the blood drained from their bodies.”

 

A shiver ran down John’s spine. That was an odd calling card for a serial killer.

 

“As of now, the killer is still at large,” the television continued. “Police are welcoming any leads, and advise citizens to stay indoors at night and avoid travelling alone whenever possible.”

 

The shot switched back to the anchors in the studio. Shortly after, they started in on their next story. John’s uneasiness passed, and he went back to his thoughts of Dave.

 

• • • • •

 

Not much changed. Dave’s brother continued to come and go, but there was absolutely no sign of Dave himself. John’s father continued working late. There was a third murder before they stopped altogether. It snowed until John thought he would forget what grass looked like beneath it all.

 

John had taken to spending time outside, after dark but before his dad was due home. He couldn’t get rid of the hope that Dave would make another appearance.

 

There was a small park at the end of the street. He would go and sit on the swings for hours on end, until he could barely feel his fingers and his jaw hurt from his teeth chattering.

 

“I thought I told you to stop watching us.”

 

John jumped. Dave had once again appeared like a ghost, standing on the swing next to his. “Jesus! Do you have to sneak up on me like that all the time?”

 

It was hard to tell in the dark, but John could swear Dave smirked.

 

“Anyways, it seems like you’re the one that’s been watching me – you’d have to be to know I’ve still been watching you.”

 

Dave made his swing sway back and forth a bit. “That’s different.”

 

“How so?”

 

“You started it.”

 

John rolled his eyes. “What are you, five?”

 

Dave huffed and dropped to sit on the swing properly. “I’m just saying. I wouldn’t give a shit about you if you weren’t stalking me.”

 

“But you do give a shit about me.”

 

“Not what I meant.”

 

John couldn’t help a smug grin. The fact remained that Dave had come. And he wasn’t even being as outright abrasive as he had been last time. He must have managed to do something right.

 

The chains of the swings squeaked as the two boys swayed back and forth. It was a small neighborhood in a small town and there wasn’t much in the way of traffic or other interruptions. John felt at peace for what may have been the first time in his young life, like all was right with the world. He’d never had a very close friend, and he didn’t know why he felt so strong a connection with Dave, but he wanted to get to know him inside and out.

 

“Why do you wear those sunglasses?”

 

“My eyes are very sensitive to light.” Dave’s answer came automatically, almost like it’d been rehearsed.

 

“But it’s nighttime.”

 

“There’s still light.”

 

“How old are you?”

 

“Thirteen.”

 

“Me too!” John flashed Dave a bright grin. Dave just kicked at the snow bank in front of him with the toe of his Converse. “Why don’t you go to school?”

 

“I’m homeschooled. My brother and I move a lot. It’s easier.”

 

“What about your parents?”

 

The expressionless line of Dave’s mouth curved downwards and John knew he had messed up. “What is this, twenty questions?”

 

“I’m sorry! You don’t have to answer. And you can ask me anything. If you want.”

 

Dave stayed quiet for a long time. John did too, not wanting to say the wrong thing again. Finally, Dave’s shoulders seemed to relax, and he turned towards John a little more. “Why do you always come out here every night, aren’t you cold?” he asked.

 

“Aren’t you? You aren’t wearing a jacket or anything.”

 

“I don’t get cold.”

 

“Everyone gets cold. And anyways, you didn’t answer my question.”

 

Actually, John had kind of been avoiding the real question, embarrassed to tell Dave the answer. But Dave had answered a bunch of his questions, so it seemed only fair. He looked away, voice dropping to a mumble. “I’ve been kind of hoping you’d come out again.”

 

John waited for Dave to call him stupid or weird or a stalker, but Dave didn’t say anything at all. Finally, John chanced a glance at the other boy. He wasn’t looking at John, but… he was smiling. It was a tiny smile, but it was definitely there. John grinned and decided he rather liked Dave’s smile, and made it his private goal to make Dave smile as much as possible.

 

A beep sounded from John’s watch, prompting him to check the time. “Shit, I have to go. My dad will kill me if he gets home and I’m not there. Um. You could come over, if you want?”

 

“That’s okay.”

 

John got up, but Dave made no move to leave. “I’ll see you later?” John asked hopefully.

 

Dave hesitated a while before answering. “…Sure. Later.”

 

The two small words made John beam. “Awesome! Bye, Dave!”

 

He started his trek towards home. When he reached the edge of the park he paused and looked back. Dave was still there, perched on his swing, head tilted back as if stargazing. The moonlight washed out his already pale skin even further, and John privately thought he looked a bit like an angel in ripped black jeans, surrounded by piles of snow.

 

• • • • •

 

Days passed. Dave didn’t come out every night, but most of the time he did. Despite John’s near constant invitations Dave refused to go over his house, and never asked John over his. Mostly they stuck to the park. There wasn’t really anything else in walking distance.

 

Dave didn’t talk about himself much. Actually, Dave didn’t talk much at all. John held on to what little bits of information slipped out, tiny treasures that fit to paint a portrait of the mysterious Dave Strider.

 

His favorite color was red. He liked movies and video games, which were things John could talk endlessly about, but he seemed to be only into obscure titles or else ones that he seemed to find hilarious for reasons John didn’t quite get. He made fun of the ones John liked incessantly. His brother, whose real name was Dirk but Dave mainly referred to as Bro, was some kind of internet entrepreneur, in a niche market that involved puppets. Dave squirmed and changed the subject when questioned further.

 

Though Dave never wore any sort of a jacket, the cold didn’t seem to bother him, though John lost all feeling in his extremities by the end of each night. It was a wonder he didn’t get frostbite. But the cold was worth it to be with Dave. He slowly started opening up more, and even though some of the mystery was gone, John never lost interest. He thought he could spend forever with Dave. He didn’t know what had made Dave change his mind about being friends with him, but he certainly wasn’t complaining.

 

• • • • •

 

John became fixated on the case of the Backwoods Butcher, as the media had taken to referring to the serial killer still on the loose. The fourth killing came about a month after the third. Police were connecting the murders to a series of cases that had occurred all over the country on and off for the past two decades. It was an unusual case as far as serial killers went, because the victims didn’t seem to have anything in common in regards to age, race, or gender. The murders only seemed to be connected by the method – each body was strung upside-down from a tree and had their neck slit to drain the blood, which had never been found at any of the scenes. There was a complete lack of any other evidence.

 

John had lived in the same small town, a suburb of a suburb of Seattle, the entirety of his young life. Having a serial killer on the loose in the area was the most exciting thing that had happened to that town since the indoor swimming pool had been built. His interests had always somewhat differed from those of his classmates, hence his relative lack of friends – he was obsessed with the paranormal, and remained convinced that ghosts, zombies, vampires, and various other things that went bump in the night existed long after his peers had grown out of such beliefs along with Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy. His refusal to let go of such things was often seen as immature or childish, but he didn’t care or bother to hide it. It was part of who he was, and likely always would be.

 

As such, it seemed only natural the Backwoods Butcher should fascinate him so. It was just the kind of real-life macabre happenstance that drew his attention like a fly to honey. He collected newspaper clippings, bookmarked links, formulated theories. He was convinced some kind of supernatural phenomenon was at play – it was the only possible explanation for how the killer could remain at large for so long.

 

But he kept his interest in the case to himself. He worried otherwise he might actually get sent to therapy this time.

 

• • • • •

 

John approached the swing set running only to see Dave already sitting there, watching him expectantly.

 

“You’re late,” Dave said when John got close enough.

 

“No, I’m not. You’re just early,” John retorted. His grin was rewarded with a tiny smirk from Dave. He plopped onto his usual swing and worked on catching his breath. “Here.”

 

Dave took the small box John had been holding and examined it. “What’s this?”

 

John rolled his eyes. “Open it, dumbass.”

 

Dave carefully unwrapped the brown paper from the box. “Oh.”

 

“Happy Valentine’s day! I know you’re supposed to get chocolates for the person you like, but I don’t like anyone like that, so I figured I’d get something from my best friend, instead.” Dave just stared at the box without a word, and John’s smile slowly fell. “What’s the matter, do you not like chocolate or something…?”

 

“No, it’s – it’s great.” Dave looked up at John, but his smile seemed forced. “Thank you. Sorry I didn’t get you anything.”

 

“Oh, it’s okay! You should try the chocolate, it’s really good.” Dave opened the box and offered it to John. “No, it’s for you!”

 

There was a slight frown on Dave’s face that John probably wouldn’t have noticed two months ago, but he’d gotten good at picking up on the intricacies of Dave’s facial expressions. He took one of the chocolates and put it in his mouth, then chewed it for a long time. When he did finally swallow, it was with difficulty.

 

“Dave, if you don’t want them–“

 

“I do! I do. They’re good. Really.”

 

The process was repeated until there were four chocolates missing from the box. Dave looked paler than usual, which John hadn’t even thought possible.

 

“Be right back,” he mumbled and rose to shaky legs. But he didn’t make it a few steps before hunching over and vomiting onto the snow.

 

“Shit! Are you okay?” John leapt up and hurried to Dave’s side. Dave sank to a crouch and dry-heaved a few more times. He spit up a little bile, but that seemed to be the end of it.

 

“I’m fine.”

 

“Dude, you just threw up. You’re clearly not fine.” John lowered himself down next to Dave and cautiously put a hand on his shoulder. It was the first time he could remember ever purposefully touching Dave. He was trembling and felt like ice under John’s hand, and fragile, as if his bones were hollow like a bird’s.

 

Dave was quiet for a long time. Finally he admitted, “I’m, um. I’m allergic to chocolate.”

 

“Then why the hell did you eat it?”

 

Dave leaned into John’s hand, then carefully rested his head on John’s shoulder and wrapped his arms around John’s waist.

 

“Because you gave it to me.”

 

• • • • •

 

The sight of Dave’s vomit made John feel kind of queasy himself, but he couldn’t help looking at it. It was unusual, no chunks from food and mostly a deep rusty color that looked almost like blood.

 

• • • • •

 

The snow finally started to let up in early March and another body was found, this time more violently slain than the last and even closer to John’s town. The killer was getting sloppy, police said, almost as if he wanted to be caught.

 

Citizens began to panic, including John’s dad. He came home from work early more often than not, and John was forbidden from going outside by himself after dark. Which meant no more Dave visits.

 

John felt the absence of Dave acutely, like there was an aching hole in his chest that just wouldn’t heal. It was strange, missing someone, something John had never really experienced before. And he definitely didn’t like it. Even worse was the fact that his life now was no different than it had been a few months ago, but none of the things he’d kept himself occupied with then held his interest anymore. No matter what he did, all he ever thought was how much better it’d be if Dave were there with him. It seemed as though Dave were finally opening up to him, and he was terrified of losing that progress. For the first time in his life, he had someone he could call a best friend, and it was decidedly nice.

 

He also worried that Dave worried. He’d essentially fallen off the face of the earth without a trace, and he most certainly didn’t want Dave thinking he’d changed his mind about being friends. And so there came to be a note taped to the Striders’ front door, Dave’s name scrawled in rounded blue pen across the front.

 

• • • • •

 

hey! sorry i haven’t been able to make it to the park lately. my dad keeps coming home early from work and he won’t let me out after dark by myself. he’s paranoid about that serial killer that’s on the loose. it’s dumb. anyways, you should come over sometime! we’d be glad to have you. and i kind of miss you.

–john

 

• • • • •

 

Dave’s brother was the one to find the note. He yanked it off the door and quickly scanned the contents, then turned and watched the Egbert house for a long time, his jaw set in a hard line. John ducks farther into his room, terrified for reasons he cannot begin to fathom.

 

• • • • •

 

That night he took the garbage out and had an overwhelming sense of déjà vu, remembering the first night Dave spoke to him. There was a light on in the Striders’ house, and he found himself creeping closer, desperate for a glimpse of Dave. What he got instead was a muffled argument, just loud enough that he could catch the gist of it.

 

“–playing with fire here?” a deep voice was yelling. This, John assumed, was the ever-elusive Dirk Strider. “Us being here is dangerous enough without you fucking around with some kid!”

 

He couldn’t quite make out Dave’s reply, but he could tell it got interrupted.

 

“I put my ass on the line for you every day, you ungrateful little shit. And I’m happy to. But don’t think for a second that you make the rules around here. I’m not scared of you.”

 

“You should be!” Dave’s voice sounded close to hysterics, and it was such a far cry from his usual soft monotone that John wasn’t sure for a moment that Dave was, in fact, the one who had spoken. There was a loud crash, the sound of something breaking. “We’re not moving again! Not right now. If you leave, I’m not going with you.”

 

Dirk’s voice softened to something gentler, and John couldn’t understand the words anymore. He started to creep away, feeling guilty for eavesdropping and paranoid about getting caught, but he wasn’t even to the sidewalk when Dave came bursting out the front door. John nearly jumped out of his skin, a flush crawling up his neck that had nothing to do with the cold. “Hey! I was just – I was – um. Hi.”

 

Dave gritted his teeth and ran a hand through snow-white hair. “Can I come over?”

 

John immediately brightened. “Yeah! Yeah, of course!” He led the way across the street, babbling the whole time. But Dave stopped just outside the front door and didn’t budge, his eyebrows furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

 

“You have to invite me in,” Dave said quietly.

 

“Dude, of course you can come in. You’re always welcome here.”

 

Dave continued to hesitate, but finally he took a tentative step inside, and then another. He shoved his hands in his pockets and brushed past John up the stairs. “You should really be more careful about who you let in.”

 

• • • • •

 

Dave incorporated himself into John’s life as seamlessly as if he were meant to be there. As far as John was concerned, he was. It started gradually, but soon Dave was at his house more or less every night, with or without his dad’s knowledge. They stayed up late huddled over a flashlight under John’s covers, whispering about nothing and everything. John drifted through school exhausted but happy, counting down the hours until the sun would set and Dave would come over.

 

Sometimes Dave said strange things, like how he never thought Ghostbusters was all that funny even when it first came out or that he’d just eaten when he’d already been at John’s house for hours. He did join John and his father for dinner once in a while, but he always just pushed his food around on his plate, insisting he wasn’t hungry, even though sometimes John would catch him staring with an expression that could only be described as famished.

 

But those weren’t the things John focused on. He chose to remember instead the faint freckles on Dave’s nose, the chill of his skin, the way he laughed for a solid five minutes after John accidentally clicked on a screamer online and was so surprised he fell out of his chair. Dave was from Texas originally, and every once in a while John could catch the hint of a drawl in his voice, though he hadn’t been there in years. John could only assume he and Dirk were avoiding it for the memories it held, but he tried to keep from asking about that. After all, he, too, knew what it was like to have a dead parent.

 

Instead, they talked about running away. Dave still wasn’t getting along well with his brother, and Dirk was still insistent on moving. John feared the day that he would wake up and Dave would simply be gone without a trace.

 

“Why does he want to move so bad, anyways?”

 

“His job.” Dave fiddled with the drawstrings of his hoodie. The sat close enough that John could just make out the outlines of Dave’s eyes through the lenses of his shades. “He likes to maintain an aura of anonymity. He’s worried that if we stay anywhere too long, some creep he sells to will come track us down. It’s happened before.”

 

“Jesus.” John blew a puff of air in an attempt to move a lock of hair from his forehead. It immediately flopped back down into his eyes. “I don’t want you to leave.”

 

Dave’s eyes flicked up to meet John’s and his voice went quiet. “I don’t want to leave you.”

 

John’s stomach did a flip and his face went warm. “Well… maybe you could stay here! Just for a while. I mean, I’m going to be fourteen tomorrow. That’s practically an adult. We could leave. Just the two of us. I know we could figure it out.” He knew nothing would come of this, that it was just one of those things young boys talked about and never followed through on, but it was a nice daydream.

 

“That sounds perfect.” Dave leaned back against the wall and shut his eyes. “But it’d never work.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“There are things about me you can never understand. Bro knows how to take care of me. I could never ask you to do that.”

 

“You wouldn’t have to! I’d be glad to.”

 

“John…” Dave opened his eyes again, a frown on his face. But John scooted closer, determined to prove his point.

 

“I would! Don’t give me that look, it’s true. And I don’t care what kind of secrets you have. I care more that you have any secrets in the first place, because I don’t have any from you, I tell you everything! You’re not supposed to keep secrets from someone you love.” That last part slipped out unbidden, and the silence that followed prompted John’s face to turn red. But finally Dave answered, not with words but by taking hold of the collar of John’s shirt and yanking him closer until their lips were pressed together.

 

John had never kissed anyone before, so the only cues he had were from his movies, where half the time it looked like they were trying to eat each other’s faces. He closed his eyes and moved his lips like he thought he was supposed to, and he thought it was nice, in a weird and kind of slimy way. Dave’s lips were dry and a little cracked under his, but they were still soft, and John liked the way his cold fingers toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck.

 

Their glasses clacked together as Dave slowly pulled away. John could almost but not quite tell what color his eyes were behind the tinted glass from that close. He was afraid to speak, afraid to shatter the fragile moment that he didn’t want to end. He wanted to kiss Dave again, but he was afraid to do that, too.

 

Finally, Dave spoke. “Happy birthday,” he said quietly, then got up and left. John was too stunned to stop him.

 

• • • • •

 

John had been looking forward to his birthday and spending it with Dave for a long time. The day passed in the usual fashion, which was to say uneventfully save for the numerous cakes both thrown in his face and forced into his stomach courtesy of his father. There were no signs of life in the house across the street and he was terrified that Dave had been stolen away in the night without so much as a goodbye. He had never been more relieved to see Dirk’s truck when it pulled into the driveway close to midnight.

 

His worry gave way to anger. What the hell was Dave’s problem, that he should kiss John like that and then not so much as drop by on his birthday? Had he changed his mind, or had he only kissed John because he thought it was what John wanted? John hadn’t even known he wanted it until hit happened, and even now he wasn’t so sure. He just wanted Dave in his life, no matter how that manifested.

 

The next day on his way to school, he tripped over a package left on the front steps, wrapped in several plastic bags to protect it from the perpetual spring rain that had come to wash away the snow. He opened it to find a Ghostbusters t-shirt and an expensive-looking camcorder, along with a note.

 

• • • • •

 

sorry i wasnt there

make your own movies for me ok

 

• • • • •

 

Dave remained virtually nonexistent until the day another body was found, about a week and a half later. John was sitting on the floor of his room, surrounded by newspapers he was scouring for articles on the subject.

 

“We’re moving.”

 

John jumped. Dave was sitting cross-legged on his bed. John was so taken aback by both his presence and his words that he forgot to be mad. “What? When?”

 

“I don’t know exactly. By the weekend. Bro is insisting.”

 

“Shit.” John got up and plopped next to Dave on the bed. “So what are you gonna do?”

 

“I’m going with him. I have to. He’s my only family.”

 

John knew this conversation was coming, but that didn’t make it any easier. “But what about – what about us?”

 

“There is no us.” Dave was turned away from John, his lips set in a hard line. John started to protest, but Dave cut him off. “Please. It’s easier this way.”

 

John wasn’t so sure he agreed.

 

They sit in silence for a long time. Finally, Dave asked, “So what up with the newspapers?”

 

“Oh! You know that serial killer, the Backwoods Butcher or whatever? They found another body this morning. Check this out.” John dug through the papers to find an article he’d clipped earlier, then rejoined Dave and handed it to him. “The police said the murder wasn’t as thorough this time, though. Usually most of the blood is drained and removed from the scene, but this time they found a huge puddle of it near where the body was hanging.”

 

Dave licked his lips. He was frowning. “Why do you keep track of this shit?”

 

“Because it’s interesting. It’s the most interesting thing that’s ever happened around here.” He took the article back from Dave and scanned the words again. “Besides, something about it doesn’t sit right with me. Why would any human need that much blood? What would they even do with it all?”

 

“So what, you think it’s ghosts performing some voodoo ritual or something?” John could practically hear Dave’s eyes rolling.

 

“No! First of all, ghosts don’t do voodoo. Unless they’re Haitian ghosts, then I guess maybe they’d do voodoo? I don’t know. But anyways, it’s obviously vampires.”

 

Dave didn’t react beyond the clenching of his jaw. “I have to go,” he said quietly.

 

“What? Dave!”

 

“It’s not vampires. That’s stupid. Vampires don’t exist. I have to go.”

 

“You don’t know that! And why do you have to leave all of a sudden?”

 

“Some things are bigger than you realize, okay, John?” Dave got up. His voice had grown to a near shout. “I have to leave and there’s nothing you or I can do about it so just – just leave me alone, okay? I told you to leave me alone from the start and you didn’t goddamn listen and now look where we are.”

 

“Fine, then leave! Fucking leave and see if I care.”

 

Dave looked wild, like a tamed beast who had only just remembered where he’d come from. John had never seen him that way. He stormed out and slammed the door to John’s bedroom behind him.

 

• • • • •

 

But John did care. He cared a lot, probably more than he should have, and he was terrified that that would be his last memory of Dave. The weekend approached far too quickly and he watched out his window anxiously every day to make sure he could catch the Striders before they left town. But they could have left while he was at school or asleep and he would be none the wiser. And somehow he knew Dave wasn’t about to come and say goodbye to him.

 

Sunday came and went and John couldn’t take it anymore. After school on Monday, he determinedly marched up the front steps to the door of the house across the street and knocked loudly. After there was no answer, he knocked again. His stomach dropped. His fears had been realized. They were already gone.

 

He tried the knob. It was unlocked.

 

He entered slowly, unspeakably nervous. “Dave?” he called, but the house was deathly quiet. Still, upon looking around, it looked lived-in, which was a good sign. Maybe they hadn’t left just yet.

 

Upon closer inspection, John was confused. Looking around, there was absolutely no sign that a kid his age lived here, let alone that that kid was Dave. The place was cluttered with what appeared to be Dirk’s belongings, and there was only one bedroom in the single-floor house. He made his way through every single room, but Dave was nowhere to be found.

 

He nearly left and gave up, until he remembered the basement. His house had one, as did most of the others on the street. It seemed unlikely, but it was the only place he hadn’t checked yet. He began opening doors, until finally one led to a dark set of stairs.

 

He started down them slowly, adrenaline coursing through his veins. The further he descended, the more terrified he was, uncertain of what he would find once he reached the bottom. The image of Dave’s face, fierce with hurt and rage, kept echoing in his mind, and the small part of him that had always been instinctually afraid of the boy he called his best friend was slowly growing. “Dave?” he called again, but his voice was strained and shaky. He’d finally reached the bottom of the stairs. The room was small and dimly lit, the only light coming from the doorway at the top of the stairs. After a minute his eyes adjusted to the darkness and shapes began to come more into focus. The few tiny windows near the ceiling appeared to be well covered so that no sunlight leaked into the room. It was mostly empty, the only real piece of furniture a large couch. John circled around to the front of it. Blankets were piled atop it, but as he watched, they shifted slightly. Someone or something was underneath them.

 

“Dave,” he tried again, his voice barely above a whisper, but there was no response. He gingerly began to peel off the blankets, layer after layer until the familiar pale skin and white-blonde hair were revealed.

 

Dave was curled up in a ball on the couch, seemingly asleep. He looked very small underneath the veritable mountain of blankets he’d been buried beneath, and for the first time since John had known him, he wasn’t wearing his sunglasses. His eyelashes were long and the same light color as his hair, resting gently on his cheeks.

 

His eyes snapped open and practically glowed red even in the low light.

 

Startled, John took a quick step backwards. “Get out,” Dave hissed. He was off the couch and standing before John even knew what was happening.

 

“Dave, I’m sorry, I – I was so afraid you’d left, I couldn’t–“

 

“Get out!” Dave’s eyes flashed and he snatched a pillow off the couch and hurled it at John. John flinched away but hesitated. However, as soon as Dave made a move towards him, he was running faster than he thought he ever had, up the stairs and out the house, right across the street and into his own bedroom.

 

• • • • •

 

Part of John wanted to believe that the whole thing was a dream – seeing Dave in his basement like that, or perhaps Dave’s very existence. But the way the hairs on the back of his neck stood up whenever he thought about it was all too real. And yet, he loved Dave. Even still, the part of him that loved Dave was far greater than the part that feared him. He knew it would be easier for both of them if he were to just let Dave go, move away and fall out of John’s world.

 

And so he did. He tried his best to forget about Dave and the past few months as much as possible. He went back to his old routines, and though a certain emptiness echoed beneath it all, slowly, he started to feel normal again.

 

His dad worried. He could tell from the furrowed eyebrows and slight frown that regarded him when he thought John wasn’t looking. His dad had always been too perceptive when it came to these sorts of things, but thankfully he knew when to leave well enough alone, which John appreciated. He didn’t want to talk about it.

 

• • • • •

 

“Though it seems the rain will clear up in time for a sunny weekend,” the television droned. John picked at his dinner. His dad had already finished eating long ago, but John hadn’t been terribly hungry these days. He considered just clearing his plate and retreating to his room, but there was a sort of quiet comfort in sitting with his father, even if they weren’t interacting. It was better than being alone, in any case.

 

“Thanks, Tom,” the anchor in the studio said. “And now, breaking news in regards to the case of the Backwoods Butcher. Police have reported that an eyewitness has stepped forward, though their identity has yet to be released. However, Sergeant Harrison Yates, who is leading the case, has released a statement that the suspect is a blonde Caucasian male in his mid-thirties, last seen wearing–“

 

A knock at the front door drew John’s attention from the television. His dad got up to answer it, but from his angle on the couch, John couldn’t tell who it was.

 

“David,” John’s dad said, sounding surprised. “Please, come in. Good heavens, you’re soaked to the bone.”

 

John’s stomach did a flip and sure enough, Dave himself took a step into the foyer, looking rather like a drowned cat. “Sorry to bother you,” he said, with only a brief glance at John before he continued to address his father. “It’s just, uh… my brother. He hasn’t been home in a couple days now, and I didn’t really know where else to go.”

 

“Well, you’re most certainly welcome to stay with us. John, would you take him upstairs and fetch him some dry clothes?”

 

“Uh, sure.” John’s voice came out weak. He abandoned his plate on the coffee table and led the way upstairs. He picked out clothes he thought might fit Dave in silence – it was difficult, considering he’d gone through a growth spurt since his birthday, and Dave was tiny as ever. He didn’t know what to say. He’d accepted the fact that he was never going to see Dave again, and now that Dave was here, standing right in front of him, it was all too surreal.

 

“Thanks,” Dave mumbled and took the clothes from him.

 

“So… where do you think your brother is?” John finally asked, averting his eyes as Dave changed.

 

“I dunno. But he’s not coming back.”

 

“What? How do you know?”

 

“I just do. It’s not a big deal, we both knew this would happen eventually. I won’t be in your hair for too long. I just need a place to crash until I can figure some shit out.” Dave crawled onto John’s bed. Despite the confidence in his words, he looked very small and very scared.

 

John sighed and sat next to him. “Don’t worry about it, okay? You can stay here as long as you want.”

 

Dave was quiet. After a few long moments, he leaned over and rested his head on John’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “For yelling at you and shit.”

 

“It’s okay.”

 

“No, it’s not. I was just – I was scared, okay? I didn’t know how to react. So I kind of flipped.”

 

“Dave, seriously, it’s fine.”

 

“Okay.”

 

John shut his eyes and let himself focus on nothing but the gentle in-out of Dave’s breathing for a long time.

 

• • • • •

 

“Hello?”

 

“Yeah, hi, is this John? Egbert?”

 

“Uh, yeah? Who’s this?”

 

“Dirk Strider. Dave’s brother.”

 

“Oh. Uh. Hi?”

 

“Look, sorry for calling you like this. I don’t have much time. Is Dave at your place?”

 

“Yeah, why?”

 

“Good. Keep him there. Don’t let him go back to the house, no matter what, okay? This is really important.”

 

“Alright…”

 

“Take care of him, kid. And… tell him I’m sorry. To both of you.”

 

“Dirk, where are you?”

 

The phone went dead.

 

• • • • •

 

Dave built himself a little nest and slept in John’s closet during the daytime. John got the feeling it was one of those Dave things he wasn’t supposed to ask about, so he didn’t. As soon as the sun set, Dave would come wandering out, yawning and rubbing his eyes. Usually John would be messing around on his computer, or else doing homework, and Dave would crawl onto John’s bed and just kind of watch him until John acknowledged his presence.

 

But as days passed, Dave started sleeping later and later. He looked pale and sickly, and he grew irritable if John so much as glanced at him wrong. John kept asking what was wrong, and Dave insisted it was nothing.

 

Sometimes, when it was late at night and John was finally too tired to try and stay awake with Dave, they’d both crawl into John’s bed, huddled together under the covers. Dave would curl into John’s chest and John would hold him, sometimes rub his back, try not to notice the tremors that only seemed to get worse over time.

 

Dave tucked his face into the crook of John’s neck and took a few deep breaths. “I’m hungry,” he admitted, so quietly that John thought for a moment he’d misheard.

 

“Well, we have plenty of food, I can get you–“

 

“No. It’s okay. Never mind.” Dave pressed a kiss to John’s neck, then crawled out from under the covers and silently left the room.

 

John drifted in and out of sleep as he waited for Dave to come back, but he never did. It was after three in the morning and John was worried. Dave didn’t seem in his right mind. He was terribly ill, no matter what he told John, and John didn’t want to think about him out wandering around in the middle of the night. So he dragged himself out of bed and pulled his coat on over his pajamas to go find him.

 

“Dave?” he called as he wandered down the silent street. His voice echoed off the dark houses, growing distorted as it bounced back to his ears. No answer came.

 

He wandered as if though a dream for what felt like a month but was really more like a half-hour before he saw any signs of movement. He turned a corner and, yes, down the street, there was Dave, hunched over – over – was that a person?

 

“Dave!” John walked quicker, then began running, but he stopped in his tracks once his eyes took in the scene before him. It was a person – no, a body – and Dave scrambled backwards, a river of blood running from his mouth and staining his shirt.

 

“I told you to stay away from me,” Dave said quietly, his voice wavering. A tear ran down from behind his shades, then another, combining with the blood until John couldn’t quite tell which it was dripping off his cheeks. John thought he might be sick. But he took an uncertain step forward, and then another, until his arms were wrapped tightly around Dave, who sobbed into his chest, soaking his jacket and shirt with blood from the slain man beside them.

 

• • • • •

 

John let Dave finish feeding. He didn’t know what else to do. He’d always known in the back of his mind, had been certain from the beginning that something wasn’t quite right about Dave, but there was a world of difference between theorizing about something and seeing it proven right before your very eyes. He didn’t watch, didn’t think he could, but he patiently waited a few feet away until Dave was done so that they could walk home together.

 

Dave didn’t talk for the rest of the night. John changed his own clothes and drew Dave a bath before helping him do the same, and then they crawled back into John’s bed. He asked Dave a few quiet questions, all of which were answered by a nod or a shake of the head – have you always been like this? Is that why you never eat? You wouldn’t hurt me, would you?

 

After a long while, John managed to fall asleep, his mind stained with the pool of blood that filled the sidewalk beneath Dave’s feet. When he woke in the morning, Dave was gone, back into the closet until sunset.

 

• • • • •

 

They watched from John’s bedroom window as the police raided the house across the street. Dave explained that he wasn’t supposed to exist, supposedly disappeared the day his parents were murdered, that Dirk had done all he could to help his younger brother survive.

 

Even if it meant becoming a serial killer.

 

Dirk Strider became infamous overnight. His face was all over the news. John kept the television off and hid the newspapers when Dave was awake. Dave insisted it didn’t bother him, that they’d both known this day was coming, but John saw the furrow between his brows that never seemed to go away.

 

But news came and went, and the limelight never lasted. Weeks later no one was talking about the case of Dirk Strider, the Backwoods Butcher anymore. He was all but forgotten to everyone except Dave, who was all but forgotten himself.

 

• • • • •

 

John takes videos of Dave using his camcorder. Dave tells him that he should be making videos of something beautiful, and don’t you dare claim that I’m beautiful Egbert because we both know that isn’t true. John just smiles and keeps recording.

 

They leave town shortly before John’s fifteenth birthday. Dave has access to a bank account Dirk set up for him in case of emergencies. It’s enough to get them through for a few years at the very least.

 

John volunteers for blood drives. He becomes a professional at nabbing those little bags of donated blood when no one is looking. It’s not a lot, but it’s enough.

 

They take trains at night. Dave quietly watches the scenery fly by. John takes a video of him and catches a rare smile.

 

It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.


End file.
